Page 41 of Mile High Coach

“Wow, and your back didn’t crack or anything,” I whisper into his neck, feeling ridiculously girlish and light when he effortlessly tosses me down onto the bed.

Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, he draws them down his body, and I—stupidly—gasp.

I’ve seen Harrison naked before. I’ve seen lashes of him each of the times that we have been together. I’m familiar with his bare chest, broad and strong, the line of salt-and-pepper hair heading south to his navel, the cut of his hips and the strength of his legs.

And I’ve seen his cock before, but just glimpses of it in the low light. Obviously, I’ve felt the length and press of it against me and in me. In my mind is a collection of fractions, flashes of him that I’ve composited into a full picture.

But this—this is something completely different. He stands in front of me, as though he knows that I’m looking, and he likes it. The lamp is on, casting his body in a warm, golden spill of light that makes him look like some sort of Roman statue.

The physical representation of a fertility god. God of sex, lust. Of aging entirely too well.

Harrison’s eyes meet mine for a second, and stay on me as mine wander over him, taking him in, admiring the strength from decades of training. His arousal obvious in the way his cock hardens the longer I look at him, the longer we stay in this moment.

Then it shatters as he plants his hands on the edge of the bed, the hunger in his eyes turning ravenous as he climbs over my body, his cock brushing against my thigh and making me shudder with an impossible want.

“The only back we have to worry about is yours,” he murmurs, before taking my hips, flipping me over, maneuvering me where he wants me. When he presses a kiss to the spot just above my ass, the small of my back, it sends another shiver up my spine.

And I choose to focus wholly on that, on the pleasure, on the physical, bodily sensation. It’s safe. Safer than the spark of warmth in my chest, the supple, steady sense that something between us is changing—and much faster than I could ever be ready for.

Chapter 18

Harrison

“Coach! Coach, can we get a word?”

I pause, turning and finding the reporter at the side of the rink, a wide smile on her face and her microphone reaching out toward me, like she might be able to lure me in with it. Around her are several other channel-branded techs, either holding cameras or wearing bulky headphones, their eyes flicking from me to her, waiting to see if I’ll stop and talk to them.

Every game, we have scheduled interviews before and after. It’s not often that I elect to do more than what I’ve agreed to, but I’m feeling generous today.

It’s our final game in the long string before the break over Thanksgiving. Luckily, the way our schedule falls this year is giving us three whole days—Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, game-free.

And we’ve been playing our best the past few days, conveniently free of the “play to the level of your opponent” mindset that we’d been struggling under last season. It has something to do with Lovie—I know that. Does that mean I’ll admit it to anyone? Not quite.

Thinking about Lovie reminds me that she’s here, and I glance past the reporter into the crowd quickly, hoping to see her there in the stands just behind our bench. It’s where she usually sits when she comes to watch, and I’ve gotten used to seeing her there, glancing up and stealing a moment of eye contact before and after plays.

It’s validating to see my expression mirrored on her face when one of the refs makes a terrible call, when one of the players isn’t performing as he should, when we clearly need a boost to our strategy.

When I don’t see her, sitting there after a second of searching, I force myself to refocus on the reporter. She’s younger than the others, with shiny blonde hair that almost looks like a wig, hanging, clean-cut, around her shoulders. It moves when she moves, and accentuates her too-skinny collarbones above her bone-white blouse.

“Constance, hi,” I say, smiling and stepping toward her, knowing they find it charming when I remember their names.

The air around us is frigid from the ice, with that specific metallic scent that comes from the constant contact of skates against the surface. The guys are out there on one side, warming up and fucking around, and the Seattle Kraken are on the other side, warming up efficiently, each clack of their sticks and slice of their skates a reminder that they’ll be our toughest game in this run, and maybe even this season.

Fans are already crowded into the arena, eating popcorn, laughing, drinking beer. When I was a player, I never noticed them. Now, as a coach, I straddle the line between player and spectator a little too much for comfort.

“Coach Clark,” Constance Evans responds, her smile oozing over her face when she realizes I’m going to give her an interview. As a player, I’d dreaded talking to the press, had a bit of a reputation for dodging questions and being lippy. Now,I still do it, but in what I hope is a more charming and nuanced way.

Her bright teeth flash at me, drawing me out of my thoughts. When she tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, it’s with a certain flirtatiousness that I pretend not to notice. “It sure seems the Blue Crabs have been on fire recently!”

“Feels like it,” I agree, bracing a forearm against the divider and leaning in so she doesn’t have to strain so hard with her microphone to reach me.

“We’ve been talking to some of the Baltimore fans outside the arena, and many of them are telling us that something just feels different about this season. What’s your secret, Clark?”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Something is different about this season. Probably has to do with the position of the moon, or Mercury.”

Constance laughs, like I knew she would, and when she leans in close to me, she lays a hand on my forearm. Without being too obvious, I pull away.

Normally, I would flirt with her. Charm it up for the camera. But right now the last thing I want is her hand on my arm, and my body twitches to turn around, looking back and see if Lovie is here yet.

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